


Be Kind To Yourself

by Ali_OMalley_Cat



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1919463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ali_OMalley_Cat/pseuds/Ali_OMalley_Cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Edward and Bella learn to love again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended. This is un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine.**

* * *

Insults swirl and cloud my mind as I watch the hot mess walking in front of me. Vicious and cruel I can't help think them. Split ends top off dull unwashed hair, her clothes hang unflatteringly on her overweight body and they've clearly been worn over and over. The bobble ridden top gets sucked into the folds of fat hanging over the back strap of her bra. A muffin top pours from the tops of her jeans and jiggles in time with her saggy, flabby ass. This girl is unattractive.

But don't worry nameless girl in front of me, these voices that hurl insults about you against my awash-with-guilt skull won't be directed at you for long. No, the only pain that really feeds their hunger is my own. You'll distract them for a while, giving me a bitter sweet relief that keeps me going. I hate how my insecurities make me lash out at you, I'm sorry my fucked up brain needs to pull you apart so hatefully in order to feel a shred of happiness. I'm disgusting. Oh god, they're done with you now, can you see.

Every embarrassing moment of my life squeezes my stomach, flips it around and around until I'm swallowing bile back passed the ball of humiliation and nausea that's lodged in my throat. I berate myself over things I did over ten years ago. Dragging myself over scalding hot coals of shame as I watch again and again as that shy new girl makes a fool of herself. Each wave of indignity is followed by the statement, "Oh, and remember when this happened…"

This cruel taunting can last for hours but it's only the beginning. Never satisfied with my cringing and squirming over those mortifying moments my sense of self-worth gets dragged into the spotlight. A lifetimes worth of failures flash into my head, each one tearing painfully at my heart. Friendships that have exploded in anger, school exams that fail to meet the standard and each tiny mistake at works drags me further into the dark pit of self-loathing.

They have a taste for my pain now and they've saved the best for last. I stand in front of the full length mirror in our room and wonder why you love me. Grease shines on my forehead so bright not even the thickest foundation can dull it down. Every inch of my body jiggles and wobbles with every tiny movement. I grab and pinch at the excess flab cursing the skinnier-than me co-worker who tempted me with a chocolate bar earlier.

I cup my breasts and lift them high, higher, before letting them fall back into place. The right is massively bigger than the left and one nipple points up while the other looks down. Tiny red pimples litter my body, the tops of my arms and décolletage suffering the worst.

I turn to scowl at my ass. Orange peel texture, that's how I've heard cellulite described before and I see why. A hard slap pinks my left butt cheek and sends ripples across and down to the tops of my thighs.

I spend hours buffing, waxing, plucking at this pathetic excuse of a body and I'm still nothing. Still not good enough. And that's why you cheated isn't it? I know, I know. It was a mistake, one that was made over a year ago, and you love me, but it still haunts me. She still haunts me.

And even though I've seen her, up close and personal as she gushed over how lucky I was to have you and how nice of a person I was, and know that her looks aren't any better than mine in my head she is. In my head she's a goddess that rivals even Aphrodite's beauty.

I see her when you hold me, when your lips press against me and when you whisper your love against my skin. I see her every time you don't come when we fuck. I see her in every, "not tonight, baby. I'm tired." I see her with every throwaway comment that guts me. You've become careless with my sensitivity because you don't hear me when I scream.

Loud, throat hurting, soul destroying screams pour from my eyes almost every night as we lie in bed. With my face pressed into my pillow I let the pain flow hot and salty from my tired eyes. My body convulsing with sobs I try to hide from you. Maybe I shouldn't try so hard. You've never noticed. Why don't you notice me?

"Because you're pathetic. A disgusting, needy mess that couldn't possibly give him what he needs." The voices tear at my flesh; rip through muscle and viscera until they've clawed their way into my soul. My hearts a raggedy mess as it lays in tatters at your feet.

I crawl into bed, into our bed, to hide. From the voices, the world and you. I used to sleep to escape but they follow me into my dreams now. Leaking into the happy and discolouring everything with vile hatred for myself. I repeat the phrase, "I hate myself." So many times in a day it's become my mantra.

You find me there, cocooned in blankets and your shirt. You climb in with me and pull me close. It chases the voices away, loosens my chest and allows me to breathe easy for the first time that day. I sigh against your chest, loving how good your heat feels. How good your strength feels holding me above the bitingly mean waters, your heart beat like a beacon in the night.

Soft kisses against my head soothe me into sleep. Today's been a rough day, maybe the voices will be sated and I'll sleep. Tomorrow stretches ahead of me long and exhausting. This can't go on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended. This is un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine.**

* * *

Anger, hot, red and all-consuming, burns through my veins like acid. I'm so _angry_ at myself for believing you. For believing that you could change and for believing that _I_ could ever be enough. You've done it again haven't you? It's Thursday and you should have finished work nearly two hours ago, so where the fuck are you?

I know where, I can picture it oh so painfully in my head. She's pretty, prettier than me obviously, this girl I've never met. This girl who so easily pulls you away from me, from us. In my head I watch you kiss her smooth skin, grip her tiny waist and fuck her the way you used to fuck me before I got fat. Before you fed me up with cake and lies about how you'll always think I'm the prettiest girl in the world.

She grips you _so good_ , so much better than I do, pumping you closer and closer to feeling like a god. You come for her every time don't you? You're never too tired for her are you? Even when she's covered in the sweat of you both, and with mascara smudges and fucked up hair she's still breath taking. You watch her the way you used to watch me.

I hate her. I hate _you_. But most of all I hate myself and what I've let you do to me. I sit at home; cuddling the dog and clutching my wine glass while this anger, this vile _hatred_ for myself festers deep down in my soul. Putrid, rancid, disgusting self-hatred bubbles and oozes in me, on me. I want to scream and cry and hurt something, _you_ , anything, as much as you've hurt me. It's too much to keep inside. Too damaging.

And finally your home. You know, as soon as you look at the black mascara tears tracking their way down my face and into my now empty wine glass, what I've been thinking. Where my thoughts have been. You kneel in front of me, kissing my white knuckled fists, and asking me to tell you what's wrong.

I ask where you've been, waiting for the lies to slide smooth as glass from your tongue. Your brows furrow in confusion, those beautiful eyes _begging_ me to not do this and your soft-as-clouds lips pucker as you think real hard about how you say your next sentence. "Baby, I've been at work. I told you I was working a close tonight."

Bile rises up, sticking in my throat and burning my words. "You told me you were finishing no later than ten tonight. And you text me _over an hour_ ago that you were leaving in five minutes." My voice waivers and my lips tremble in anticipation for your excuses.

"I did leave then, sweetheart. I text you, got changed and then by the time I walked to the car and drove home that makes it just over an hour." Your voice is full of pleading, you need me to hear the truth but I'm still too stuck in that vision of you and the fantasy girl.

"It doesn't take that long to get home from the restaurant." I've got you now; you forgot you told me you were working so close to home tonight. The confusion on your face makes me want to claw the truth from it.

"I wasn't at the restaurant tonight, I'm there tomorrow, Thursday and Friday." The corner of your mouth lifts as you watch the realisation that I've gotten my days confused bloom on my face. Today is Wednesday.

"Oh, yeah. I—I thought it was Thursday." I look down at our hands shamefully. Yours are cradling mine so gently. I can feel the relief starting to creep in but the doubt in my mind isn't fully satisfied yet. I lick my lips nervously, I _hate_ asking you this. I hate how it makes me _feel_ , but I know I won't be able to sleep until I do. "Could I—would you be angry if I asked to read your messages?"

I hear the smile in your voice. "No, baby. Of course you can read them." And then you hand me your phone.

I scroll through everything. Texts, Kik, Whatsapp and Facebook. Nothing. Well obviously there are messages there, but nothing that crushes my heart. The vision of you and the imaginary slut dissipates and fades from my mind as I find no proof of infidelity. And the relief surges through me, leaving me light headed and guilty. I apologise but you don't mind, _you_ apologise for making me feel like I need to look.

Soft kisses, tight embraces and gentle caresses carry us up to bed where we lie tangled up in each other's limbs and I love you's. It's been a while since I've freaked out that bad. Maybe I'm starting to finally trust you, _us_ , again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended. This is un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine.**

* * *

I'm at a party, a work colleague's daughter turned eighteen and she invited the whole office, and despite the fact that the venue is crappy, and the DJ's even worse, I'm actually having a good time. I was brave while getting ready and tried a dress on I haven't been able to fit into for a while, and holy fuck a duck it fit! The way my smile lit up my face could have even made the sun jealous.

I'm positively giddy. The voices in my head have decided to stay home tonight and I'm so, so grateful. I don't wanna be that girl sitting alone and quiet in the corner while she rips herself apart internally. I'm not that girl tonight. Tonight I am smiles and cute dresses. I am witty banter and hilarious jokes. I am smiling and fun. I am me before you.

But don't you look so handsome tonight too. Turning up with only an hour left of the party because you had to work. I was apprehensive about being here alone—if you weren't here who would fend off the voices?—but you weren't needed for emotional support tonight. Aren't you proud darling?

Your Cheshire grin only-for-me smile says you are and you bend down to kiss me. I want nothing more than to pucker my lips and reach up onto my tippy toes and kiss your lips, but I have this hideous cold saw that I'm trying to ignore and I don't want you to catch it. I turn my head at the last moment so your soft as silk lips hit my cheek instead. The frown on your face as you pull back squeezes my heart.

"I'd love a kiss, darling, but I have a hideous cold saw and I don't want you to catch it." I smile apologetically at you hoping to sooth the hurt that my sort-of-rejection caused you.

But then you're bending down and your palm is cradling my face while your lips envelope mine in love. I smile just as wide as you do as you pull back.

"I don't care about that I just want to kiss my baby. Besides I don't get them, I'm a carrier." And with a cheeky wink you've turned away to greet my friends and get us a drink from the bar.

If you'd stayed you would notice the light leaving my eyes and the way my shoulders sag with invisible weight. You'd see that the voices have swarmed in and I'm drowning in sadness. What do you mean you're a carrier? Have you been kissing someone else to give this to me? I'm not even sure if it is a cold saw any more.

And now I'm that girl, the sad lonely girl sitting in the corner by herself at a party. I'm too busy trying to contain my tears to fight the voices and they tear into me with vigour. My insecurities and fears make a fantastic feast for my demons.

You come back to me with alcohol and a smile but I can't even lift my head. It's too full of heart ache and so, so heavy with sadness. I miss the happy already. I wish I was strong enough to hold onto it. You ask me what's wrong and I don't want to tell you, not here, because it will ruin the night, but mine's already ruined and if I don't ask you the not knowing will drive me mad.

I clutch onto your arm for strength, and maybe to show you that I hate that I'm saying this, and I whisper as quietly as I can in a room with a DJ and six speakers, "When you said you were a carrier—well what did you mean? I—have you been kissing other girls?"

I get a little bit of courage and glance up at you because if I'm going to accuse you it's the least I can do to give you eye contact. But oh how I wish I hadn't. The utter devastation that's written on your face cuts me open quicker than the sharpest blade ever could. I feel like my insides are spilling from me, my intestines and other organs pooling at my feet. I feel sick with guilt.

You take a deep breath and try to reign in the pain that's so raw in your summer green eyes. "No, baby, I haven't. I only said it to make you feel better about me kissing you." And then your summer green eyes turn spring like as they dampen like the April showers.

We stay like that for a little while, clutching each other's hands and staring with watery eyes, we're both trying so hard to stay in control. The guilt that flows from me mingles with the guilt coming from you until we're sat in a cloud of toxic thoughts. I ruined tonight, I have to fix it.

Taking a deep breath I wrestle the voices back, and I pull the love I have for you in close as I try to be brave. "We have to stop doing this to each other. I have to forgive you and learn to trust you and you need to stop torturing yourself every time you hurt my feelings. What's done is done and I said I'd forgive you, it's time to move on."

I feel dizzy from my declaration, I'm happy that I've said it but so terrified that I may have lied to you. I send out a quick prayer to a god I don't believe in that I can get over this. I want—need—to get over it.

You give me a watery yet hopeful smile and once we've pulled ourselves together we say our goodbyes to the other party goers and head home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended. This is un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine.**

* * *

I think we're dying. I think _I'm_ dying. Everything hurts, my heart the most, but every single breath I take feels like I'm breathing in glass. Every thought wounds me, every movement breaks bones and my tears feel like acid on my skin.

We sit on separate couches and go to bed at separate times. You barely look at me but when you do there's an emptiness there that terrifies me. Your words are hollow and when you touch me it's ghost like.

I've stopped trying to get your attention because it gets me nothing but frustration and heart ache. What you once found sexy and alluring now bores you. Any and all advances are—were—from me. Trying to remember the last time you came on to me is like trying to remember someone you've never met. We only touch now to say hello or goodnight, and it's always chaste and innocent.

I've tried everything to turn you on, new toys, kinky new games, but nothing holds your interest. On the rare occasion you respond to my come-to-bed eyes and whispered words of pleasure we barely get started before you've lost your lustre. If I have to hear—"Sorry, baby, I'm really tired."—One more time I'm gonna scream and I don't know if I could stop.

I take daily, hour long showers now so I can curl under the hot spray and cry as long and as much as I need. Even after all this time I still can't let you see me break down. I took you back and I don't want you to spend the rest of our lives feeling guilty, but now my soul aches and I need you.

I need you to see that I'm not okay. I need you to see that your rejection crucifies me. I need you. This insecurity has nothing to do with your mistake. This feeling of worthlessness, of ugliness, comes from your lack of attention.

On the car ride home today I told you, in the space of five minutes, how good you looked five times in five different ways. Your response? A wink and an, "it's all for you, baby." And then a cheesy little wink.

I used to love that wink. It would cause my cheeks to flame and ridiculous girlish giggles would bubble up from my heart. But now it kills me. Is it really so hard for you to say something nice about me?

I spend fifty percent of my time thinking that tonight is the night I tell you we're over because I can't keep doing this. I can't keep feeling like this. It's always pain. I'm drowning in it. But then my heart starts to palpitate and it cries out for you because I _fucking love you_.

People aren't supposed to just walk away from love, but I don't know how to fix this. Fix us. Me.


End file.
